Chapter 259
Casper's POV
I turned slowly, my movements deliberate despite the alcohol making everything slightly off-balance, and found myself facing the scarred werewolf I'd noticed earlier—the one with tribal tattoos crawling up arms that looked like they could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. His stance was confrontational, shoulders squared and fists clenched, clearly looking for a fight that I absolutely could not afford to give him right now, not when Ronan was still on the line, not when I was this close to finding out what had happened to Elowen.
"Ronan, are you still there?" I asked into the phone, my voice steady despite the effort it took to keep it that way, and I could hear him breathing on the other end, could practically feel his disapproval radiating through the connection like heat from a furnace.
"I'm here," he said, his tone flat and unreadable in a way that made my stomach twist with anxiety, and I watched the stranger's face twist with irritation as I deliberately turned my back on him, focusing all my attention on the phone call that was rapidly becoming the only thing anchoring me to sanity. "Are you seriously about to get into a bar fight right now?"
"Not if I can help it," I muttered, though even as I said it I could feel the tension building behind me, could sense the stranger's buddies closing in, their wolves prowling just beneath the surface of their human forms, eager for blood and violence and the kind of chaos that would give them bragging rights for weeks. Leo stirred in the back of my mind, his presence a dark and hungry thing that wanted nothing more than to tear through these assholes until they learned what it meant to disrespect a Thornwood, but I shoved him down with more force than I'd used in months, refusing to give in to the easy temptation of letting my wolf handle my problems.
"You're pathetic," Leo snarled, his voice dripping with contempt that cut deeper than any physical blow could have managed, and I felt my jaw clench as his words echoed through my skull like shards of broken glass. "Can't even defend yourself without me, can't fight your own battles, can't do anything except drink and feel sorry for yourself while she suffers because of what you did."
"Shut up," I whispered, the words barely audible even to my own ears, but the stranger apparently took it as being directed at him because I heard him take a step closer, heard the creak of leather and the soft rustle of fabric that meant he was getting ready to throw the first punch. "I'm on the phone with my brother-in-law, for fuck's sake, can you just—"
"Brother-in-law?" Ronan's voice cut through my rambling with surgical precision, sharp and cold and carrying an edge of something I couldn't quite identify but that made my chest tighten with sudden, irrational hope. "You still think of me that way? After everything you and Cassian did to her?"
"Of course I do," I said, and the words came out more desperate than I'd intended, carrying all the weight of six months' worth of grief and regret and the kind of soul-deep longing that made it hard to breathe some days. "You're her brother, which makes you family, which means—"
The stranger chose that exact moment to shove me from behind, hard enough that I stumbled forward and nearly dropped the phone, and I heard Ronan's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line as the background noise of the bar suddenly exploded into chaos. The blonde woman I'd been hitting on earlier was screaming at her boyfriend—the scarred bastard currently trying to pick a fight with me—and his friends were laughing and egging him on, creating a perfect storm of testosterone-fueled stupidity that was about to end very badly for everyone involved.
"Where are you?" Ronan demanded, his voice cutting through the noise with the kind of authority that came from being an Alpha's son, from being someone who was used to being obeyed without question. "Casper, answer me. Where the hell are you right now?"
"Moonrise Den," I said, the words tumbling out before I could think better of them, before I could consider whether telling him was a good idea or whether it would just make everything worse. "I'm at Moonrise Den, and I'm—" I paused, looking at the blonde woman who was now glaring at me with the kind of hatred usually reserved for people who'd kicked puppies, and I felt a laugh bubbling up in my chest that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with the absurdity of my current situation. "I'm trying to hit on the wrong girl, apparently."
Leo's voice was sharp and cutting in my mind, laced with a bitterness that made my teeth ache. "You selfish bastard. You want her to come, don't you? Want Elowen to show up here and see what a mess you've become, want her to feel sorry for you and take you back like some kind of pathetic romance novel where the broken hero gets redeemed by the woman he destroyed."
"Yes," I admitted, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper, but it was enough—enough to make Leo fall silent, enough to make my hands start shaking as I gripped the phone tighter, enough to make me realize just how far I'd fallen if I was actively hoping for Elowen to witness my self-destruction. "I know she's hurting, I know we caused that, but I just... I need to see her, even if she hates me, even if she never wants to speak to me again. I need to know she's real and alive and—"
"She's suffered enough because of you," Leo interrupted, his voice cold and final in a way that made my chest ache with a pain that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the impending fight. "Let her heal. Let her move on. Stop being so goddamn selfish."
But I couldn't, that was the problem—I couldn't let go, couldn't stop wanting her, couldn't accept that the best thing I could do for Elowen was stay away and let her build a life without me. The stranger was saying something now, his voice rising above the general din of the bar, but I couldn't focus on his words, couldn't make myself care about whatever insult he was throwing my way when my entire world had narrowed down to the phone in my hand and the desperate, pathetic hope that Ronan would take pity on me and tell me something, anything, about how she was doing.
"I'm putting you on speaker," Ronan said suddenly, his voice tight with something that might have been anger or might have been concern—I couldn't tell anymore, couldn't read people the way I used to when I wasn't drowning in whiskey and self-loathing. "Don't hang up. You're going to stay on this call and listen to what happens next, understand?"
"Okay," I said, because what else could I say, what else was there except blind obedience to the one person who might still give me information about Elowen, who might still throw me a lifeline in the storm of my own making. The stranger was getting closer now, his face twisted with rage, and I turned toward him with a smile that felt more like a grimace, raising my free hand in a mocking wave. "Hey there, big guy. Sorry about hitting on your girl—she was too easy anyway, not really my type."